My upcoming sapphic soccer romance, Girlfriend Goals<\/em>, is out on May 1st on my web shop as an ebook<\/a>, paperback<\/a> and signed paperback<\/a>. Want to read the first chapter? Read on\u2026<\/p>\n Chapter One<\/strong><\/p>\n She was the first to arrive at the big Football Association meeting. Keen. Organised. Enthusiastic. The holy trinity of personality flaws that had haunted Amy since primary school. Her reports had always said the same thing: Amy is a pleasure to teach. The kiss of death for any social credibility. By the time her 41st birthday rolled around, she\u2019d accepted her fate. She\u2019d never be a cool kid. She would die as she\u2019d lived: five minutes early in a sensible coat.<\/em><\/p>\n She was even here before Matt Evans, which really was something. She\u2019d bet good money the FA Communications Director had been a class swot, too. The shiny shoes. The eager smile. It took one to know one.<\/em><\/p>\n In contrast, Amy was certain the recently appointed England manager, Jen Campbell, would arrive bang on time in a flurry of handshakes and charm. Whether she\u2019d meet Amy\u2019s eye was another matter. Whether she\u2019d shake her hand? Amy already knew the answer to that. Jen hadn\u2019t done so at a single Women\u2019s Super League (WSL) match in the decade they\u2019d spent as opposing managers. The cameras always noticed. Football socials had opinions. Amy had learned to keep her face very, very still.<\/em><\/p>\n There was no love lost between them (as players or managers), and Amy\u2019s recently published memoir hadn\u2019t exactly helped. But she wasn\u2019t going to think about the nuclear fallout from that right now. She had enough on her plate.<\/em><\/p>\n Speaking of plates: she\u2019d had no breakfast. At seven that morning, her microwave had staged a violent protest against her scrambled eggs, redecorating its interior in a style best described as \u2018Jackson Pollock\u2019s yellow period\u2019. Then she\u2019d discovered her coffee canister was empty. Actually empty, not just nearly empty, which she could have worked with. The universe was clearly warming up for something.<\/em><\/p>\n But at least there was coffee in this room. And white cardboard boxes that almost certainly contained pastries. If nothing else, a Danish was on her horizon. Not as good as her mum\u2019s, obviously, but free food was free food.<\/em><\/p>\n She ran her fingertips along the backs of the chairs tucked neatly under the large oval table. The serious meeting room. The one the FA wheeled out for decisions that might eventually make the evening news. She was at the top table now. Amy O\u2019Donnell, Republic of Ireland Women\u2019s Manager. The girl from Dublin had done good.<\/em><\/p>\n Some days, it still didn\u2019t feel quite real.<\/em><\/p>\n There were place settings, like a wedding, printed on thick card with the three lions crest in the corner. Not a shamrock in sight. The hierarchy established before anyone had even sat down. Amy swallowed down a lump of faint discomfort.<\/em><\/p>\n She walked around the table, counting. Eight seats near the whiteboard, black markers stacked beside it. There were a few names she didn\u2019t recognise from the production company. But also, ones she did. Patricia Bloom, the FA\u2019s Women\u2019s Football chief. Matt, Amy\u2019s fellow swot. And then Amy and Jen.<\/em><\/p>\n Directly opposite each other.<\/em><\/p>\n Could she swap the places around? Put Jen at the other end of the table? Amy\u2019s mouth twitched at the possibility. But then, she remembered she was better than that. Plus, they needed to get used to sharing the same air. With this year\u2019s Euros being jointly hosted by England and Ireland, Amy was going to be seeing a lot more of her ex-friend and forever nemesis.<\/em><\/p>\n Lucky, lucky her.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cAmy!\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n She turned, already recognising the voice. Matt was dressed in a grey suit with a black-and-pink striped tie, radiating head-boy energy. His teeth were also extra white and shiny. Had he had them done?<\/em><\/p>\n He walked over and shook her hand, giving her a smile that should come with a glare warning.<\/em><\/p>\n He\u2019d definitely had them done.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cI might have known you\u2019d be first here.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n She smiled at the not-quite-compliment. \u201cYou know me!\u201d Even though he plainly didn\u2019t.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cI hope you\u2019re not rearranging the name tags. I was in here at the crack of dawn making sure you and Jen were at the centre of things.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cWouldn\u2019t dream of it, Matt.\u201d Amy was an excellent liar when she needed to be.<\/em><\/p>\n She\u2019d only met him a handful of times, but he put her at ease. She couldn\u2019t say the same about Jen. Or Patricia, who reminded Amy of her old headmistress: sharp suit, sharper haircut, and a stare strong enough to puncture a match ball.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cAll pumped for today? The documentary people are here and very excited to meet you. I think this whole production might exceed your expectations.\u201d He grinned, and Amy had to stop herself from shielding her eyes. \u201cYou might even become a bit more famous from it. All publicity is good publicity. Might even get you a few more book sales, right?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Amy\u2019s publishers had said exactly the same thing. Jen, she suspected, would disagree.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cApparently so.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Amy hadn\u2019t been keen on the documentary idea. A behind-the-scenes series in the lead-up to the Euros, cameras following them around, capturing every tense moment and difficult decision. But Patricia hadn\u2019t given them a choice. The production company was putting up serious money to support grassroots women\u2019s football in both countries, and turning it down would have been verging on criminal.<\/em><\/p>\n They hadn\u2019t been asked.<\/em><\/p>\n They\u2019d been voluntold.<\/em><\/p>\n The door opened, and a host of unfamiliar faces filed in. Amy pulled her shoulders back and deployed her professional smile. The one she\u2019d spent years perfecting, the one that said: I am absolutely delighted to be here.<\/em><\/p>\n Football tactics she was comfortable with. Players she could handle. Making small talk with television executives while waiting for her nemesis to arrive? That was a whole new circle of hell.<\/em><\/p>\n She shook hands with Maxine, David, Giles, and Anne-Marie. She smiled, and agreed she was super-excited about the coming months. She\u2019d barely released the final handshake when the door opened again.<\/em><\/p>\n Patricia walked in first in a black power suit, which, against her ice-white skin, gave off Cruella vibes. Jen followed in cashmere and tailored trousers, accessorised like she had somewhere better to be afterwards. Judging by how glossy her rich, brown hair was, maybe she did. Amy hadn\u2019t seen it out of a ponytail for years. She looked good.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cHow are we all?\u201d Jen said, holding court. \u201cSo good to see you again, Maxine! Anne-Marie!\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Of course she knew them all already.<\/em><\/p>\n Amy tried to clear her mind and think happy thoughts.<\/em><\/p>\n Jen pumped the production team\u2019s hands like she was already on camera, living up to her \u2018former-England-captain-turned-national-treasure\u2019 billing from the first second. She greeted everyone like old friends: first names, warm smiles. Matt got called \u2018\u201dmy star comms guy,\u201d which made him beam like he\u2019d won a prize.<\/em><\/p>\n It was a performance, obviously. Everything Jen did was a performance. But Amy had to admit it was a good one. If this was designed to remind Amy that Jen knew everyone better, it had worked beautifully.<\/em><\/p>\n Then Jen reached her. The smile stayed fixed, but there was a teeny-tiny stutter in her movement. A fractional pause. Jen took a breath, then allowed her gaze to land.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cAmy.\u201d Another pause. \u201cIreland\u2019s new manager at the same time I\u2019m England manager. You couldn\u2019t write it.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Jen held out her right hand. Her jaw was tight. Her smile went wonky around the edges.<\/em><\/p>\n Amy took her hand for the first time in a decade.<\/em><\/p>\n Jen\u2019s grip was firm and brief. Then she leaned in, close enough that Amy caught the scent of her (undoubtedly expensive) perfume, and whispered: \u201cBut if anyone\u2019s going to write it, I\u2019m sure you will.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Amy pressed her back teeth together. Hard.<\/em><\/p>\n Jen had taken the first opportunity to land a blow and establish dominance. To make sure Amy knew the next six months were going to be hell.<\/em><\/p>\n Amy kept her expression neutral as they separated. When she glanced up, Patricia Bloom\u2019s eyes were on them.<\/em><\/p>\n Right. Be the bigger person. Even though she wanted to punch her managerial counterpart in her smug, photogenic face. It wasn\u2019t an unfamiliar feeling, after all. She\u2019d been suppressing the urge for years.<\/em><\/p>\n They collected coffee \u2013 nobody else took a Danish, and Amy\u2019s stomach sobbed \u2013 and settled into their appointed seats. Patricia took the head of the table alongside Maxine, the production lead. Maxine wore a mustard-yellow top that popped beautifully against her light-brown skin, and she had a mile of hair, all of it shined to perfection.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cFirst, I want to say a huge thank you to both FAs, and to Amy and Jen for agreeing to this behind-the-scenes production.\u201d Maxine smiled warmly at both of them in turn. \u201cOur aim is to drive interest in women\u2019s football, and showcase what goes into preparing for a major tournament. You\u2019re the ones writing the script. The players are the actors: they carry out the parts and get the glory. We want to focus on what it actually takes to win. What makes you,\u201d she pointed at Jen, \u201cand you,\u201d she switched to Amy, \u201ctick.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Amy nodded, professional smile firmly in place.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ll do that through a series of interviews,\u201d Maxine continued. \u201cSeparately and together.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Amy\u2019s smile froze.<\/em><\/p>\n Together? Just the two of them? On camera?<\/em><\/p>\n She tried to imagine it, but drew a complete blank. Jen couldn\u2019t shake her hand without getting in a dig about the book. How were they supposed to sit side by side and have a civil conversation while someone filmed them?<\/em><\/p>\n Anne-Marie, Maxine\u2019s second in command, jumped in. She was one of those people who couldn\u2019t sit still, all restless energy and endless hand gestures. Her hair was shaved at the sides with the rest styled upwards, and she looked like she\u2019d mainlined four espressos for breakfast.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cWe want organic, off-the-cuff, reality-show vibes. We\u2019ll follow you through training camps, press conferences, joint interviews, right to the matches themselves. We need narrative tension, of course: pressure, stakes, history. But all of that is baked into the tournament build-up. We\u2019re sure it\u2019s going to be very popular.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n She said history like it was a selling point. \u201cWe also want to film at your homes. See the real you, not just the work you.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Amy thought of her microwave. The empty coffee canister. The chipped tiles by the kettle she\u2019d been meaning to fix for over a year. Meredith and her mum wandering downstairs in their pyjamas, her mum\u2019s hair looking like she\u2019d been electrocuted.<\/em><\/p>\n This was fine. Everything was fine.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cWe want to show different approaches from both camps,\u201d Anne-Marie continued, apparently unaware she was describing Amy\u2019s personal nightmare. \u201cYour relationships with your teams, but also with each other.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Amy shot Patricia a pointed look. Did you know about this?<\/em><\/p>\n Meanwhile, Jen\u2019s poker face had slipped entirely. She looked as blindsided as Amy. But she recovered fast, smoothing her expression back to neutral before anyone could notice.<\/em><\/p>\n Almost anyone.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cWe are, of course, aware of recent community interest around Amy\u2019s recent book and your\u2026background stories,\u201d Patricia said, her tone suggesting that community interest was a polite way of saying absolute shitstorm. \u201cBut this documentary is focused on the present. On you both as national team managers. Nothing else.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n She met Amy\u2019s gaze directly. \u201cI\u2019m sure we can all get along and give the production team what they need. They\u2019re making a substantial contribution to grassroots football in both countries. The largest investment Ireland has ever seen, in fact.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n The implication was clear: don\u2019t fuck this up.<\/em><\/p>\n Amy nodded. She wished, not for the first time, that the head of Women\u2019s Football Ireland was here for backup. But Angela was on maternity leave until almost the end of the tournament, with no cover. For now, Amy was steering this ship alone.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sure we can make this the success it deserves to be.\u201d Jen leaned back in her chair, trying to show everyone just how cool she was with it.<\/em><\/p>\n Was it wrong of Amy to want her to lean too far, then fall backwards?<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cAmy and I are old friends. We can certainly act as such for the cameras.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Old friends.<\/em><\/p>\n Amy kept her expression blank through sheer force of will.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re all aiming for the same goal: a successful Euros.\u201d Jen turned her gaze on Amy. \u201cMy focus is entirely on that, along with getting the squad up to speed, then winning. I\u2019ve managed to ignore distractions so far, no matter how much the outside world wants me to engage with them.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n She put her elbows on the table and steepled her fingers under her chin.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cAnd I can promise you,\u201d Jen added, her voice pleasant, her eyes cold, \u201cI have absolutely no plans to publish a book about my time in the game.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Under the table, Amy\u2019s hands curled into fists. \u201cWe\u2019re living in a free world, Jen. You can do whatever you like.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cWe all can.\u201d Jen\u2019s smile didn\u2019t waver. \u201cBut I think about consequences for other people. Not just my bank balance.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Amy\u2019s neck tensed so hard, she thought she might snap a tendon. Jen had no idea. She\u2019d never had to worry about money: not with her top-four managerial roles, her sponsorship deals, and now her fat FA salary. She\u2019d never understand that Amy had needed that book deal. That she hadn\u2019t had a choice.<\/em><\/p>\n Patricia clapped her hands before Amy could respond.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s take a break and reconvene at midday, shall we?\u201d It was an order, not a request. \u201cThe team want to film a first segment. Just the two of you walking around the training pitches, talking about your hopes for the tournament. Let\u2019s focus on what\u2019s ahead of us from now on.\u201d Her tone was deadpan. \u201cNothing about the past.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cNow?\u201d Something hot and panicked sloshed through Amy\u2019s chest.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cToday?\u201d Jen\u2019s pristine composure cracked.<\/em><\/p>\n Patricia\u2019s smile didn\u2019t falter. \u201cToday. No time like the present.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n PRE-ORDER GIRLFRIEND GOALS ON MY WEB SHOP NOW<\/a>!\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.clarelydon.co.uk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/GG-600-x-600-px.png\")
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